Carolina Blues (15 page)

“Excuse me?” Lauren asked.

“High school teacher.” Allison pointed to herself and then began going around the table. “Lawyer, social worker, psychologist . . . We’re like a family crisis team.”

“I don’t actually have my doctorate yet,” Lauren said.

“Don’t need one to be a counselor in North Carolina. Just a license,” Alisha said.

“Are we talking shop?” Meg said. “Because if we are, I need more champagne.”

Allison laughed. “Says the workaholic.”

“I’ll get it,” Kate said.

“You go sit,” Tess said. “You’re the bride.”

“I can help,” Lauren said.

And with her offer, she slipped into the gathering like a fish into a stream. Despite her initial introduction, she found it remarkably easy to be herself with the other women, to be accepted as someone other than Hostage Girl. Plates were emptied. Glasses refilled. Conversation bubbled and flowed. Lauren liked listening to them, enjoyed unwinding in their company.

All accomplished women, in their different ways. Tess, running her inn with ease and authority; Meg, quick and dark, vibrating with energy; coolly pretty schoolteacher Allison; lawyer Kate, with her vibrant hair and shadowed hazel eyes.

But for all their differences, they were bound together. By the child Taylor, threading her way between them. By a hundred tiny words and gestures, a quick hug, a laughing glance, a sly tease.

Family.

“They all seem so sure of themselves,” she murmured to Alisha. “Confident.”

“Lucky. They’ve all got good men.”

Lauren quirked an eyebrow. “Not to get all feminist in your face, but I don’t think you have to be part of a couple to feel confident.”

“Amen. What I meant was, I did the home evaluation for Taylor after Luke got back from Afghanistan. And one of the things I saw right away is those Fletcher men stand behind their women. Her daddy will help that child be whatever she wants or needs to be. He’s the same with Kate, and she didn’t always make that easy for him. He sees her. He gets her. That’s powerful, when a man can do that for a woman.”

Yearning flooded Lauren’s chest. Her father had been the owner of a small-town shoe store, a soft-spoken, quietly affectionate man who never made much noise in life or around the house.

But when he died, the silence he left behind was devastating.

The emptiness had echoed inside her for years. The bank robbery—the shattering of security, the loss of privacy, that sense of being helpless, powerless—had only increased her personal void.

But when Jack looked at her, he didn’t see someone who was empty.

You’ve got something inside you
, he’d murmured.
A spark. A heart.

She drew a shaky breath.

Alisha leaned forward and tucked a cocktail napkin in her hand. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you.”

Lauren blotted her eyes. Managed a smile. “No. Thanks. It’s just . . .”

Alisha nodded. “I know. It’s the whole wedding thing gets us stirred up. Almost makes me want to take the risk on an actual relationship instead of flirting online with my Soul Mate in a Box. Assuming, of course, I could find an actual, real live man who isn’t a player.”

“Or a musician,” Lauren said, thinking of the couch crashers.

“Or lives with his mama.”

Meg, overhearing, grinned. “Maybe you’re too picky. You’ve just eliminated both my brothers from your list of possibles.”

“Easy to be smug when you’re engaged to Sam Grady. Anyway, your brothers are off the market,” Alisha said.

“And Luke doesn’t live with his mother,” Kate, the lawyer, said with precision. “He rents a cottage out back.”

“Matt paid rent, too,” Allison said loyally.

“So, where will you live after the wedding?” Lauren asked politely.

“We’re looking for a house nearby,” Kate said. “We want Taylor to stay in the same school. And the commute to my office isn’t bad. Forty-five minutes or so.”

Sometime during the conversation, Tess had slipped away. She returned now, a smile on her face and a small, beribboned box in her hands.

“I know you said no shower presents,” she said to Kate, handing her the box. “But I wanted to give you this before the wedding.”

“But you’ve already given us so much. The dishes . . .”

Tess waved a dismissive hand. “For the house. This is for you.”

Kate’s face opened like a flower. “Oh, Tess.”

“Just a little something.”

They all watched as she tugged at the pale yellow ribbon, working it off the corners of the box.

“What is it?” Alisha asked.

“Let me see,” Taylor said.

With trembling hands, Kate lifted a white square from the creamy tissue, the cloth delicately embroidered all over with tiny blue flowers.

“It’s a handkerchief,” Tess said unnecessarily. She cleared her throat. “My mother-in-law gave it to me to carry on my wedding day. I thought . . . Something old?”

“And borrowed,” Meg said.

“And blue!” Taylor bounded on the couch cushions.

Kate raised her face, her eyes bright with unshed tears. “I love it. I love you.”

Tess caught her in a warm embrace. “We love you, too, sweetheart. Welcome to the family.”

“Where is Kate’s mother?” Lauren murmured to Alisha.

Alisha rolled her eyes. “Don’t ask.”

My mother would be here
. The thought was oddly comforting.

After that, there were more tears, more laughter, more champagne.

Marriage
, Lauren thought later as they all snuggled on the couch, on the floor, to watch the movie.
Is what brings us together.

Alisha was right. It was almost enough to make her want to take the risk on an actual relationship.

Lauren hugged a sofa pillow to her empty chest. But was Jack interested in taking a risk on her?

L
AUREN SNUGGLED INTO
the couch cushions. The movie was almost over. She should go upstairs and work. For the first time in months, the thought didn’t bring the hot tightening in her chest, the greasy ball of panic in her stomach.

She
wanted
to work. Recharged by her break, she could feel her energy returning, her thoughts mustering, like static electricity buzzing against her skin.

In the hall, the grandfather clock struck midnight. The chimes mingled with the noise from the TV, the sound of running footsteps as Inigo Montoya chased the six-fingered man through the halls of the castle.

Taylor hugged Kate’s arm against her chest. “I love this part,” she whispered.

“Was that the door?” Tess asked.

Lauren blinked, confused. On TV? Or . . .

Meg stirred from the couch. “I’ll get it.”

Voices rumbled from the kitchen. Kate kissed the top of Taylor’s head—such a sweet and natural gesture, such a mom thing to do, that Lauren’s heartstrings twanged—and got up.

Lauren rolled her head on the back of the couch to watch Kate cross the kitchen.

Two men stood at the back door, the first tall and blond and muscular, as if Westley the Farm Boy had done serious gym time. Lauren watched Kate go up on tiptoe to kiss him. This must be the bridegroom, then. Luke Fletcher.

The other . . . Lauren’s heart beat a quick tattoo.

If Luke was the classic movie hero, Jack was . . . Well, he was no Prince Charming. Against Luke’s tall, golden, easy gorgeousness, he looked dark, compact, and dangerous, a star collapsed upon itself, a black hole exuding stunning gravity. The pleasant buzz of the evening transmuted to a different kind of excitement, electrifying all her limbs, running through her veins like quicksilver.

She met his gaze. Connection arced and sparked in the space between them. Her fingertips tingled. She wanted to jump off the sofa and fly to him.

Like a bug to a bug zapper.

She shivered. Not a reassuring image.

His dark eyes flared. But his voice as he spoke to Kate was calm and reassuring, the voice of a man used to taking charge, to taking care of things. A man who could be trusted.

“Get his ass to bed soon,” he was saying. “I need him on shift at seven tomorrow morning.”

“I’ll be there,” Luke assured him earnestly.

Jack’s mouth curled. “I know you will. Great party, Luke. Your friends are good guys.”

He nodded. “The best. Best guys. Best time. Thanks, Jack.”

“Anytime, buddy.”

Kate slipped an arm around Luke’s waist. “I’ve got him from here.”

His deep blue eyes focused on her carefully. “I didn’t have that much to drink.”

Meg rolled her eyes.

Kate laid her free hand gently on Luke’s cheek. “Not too much. Did you have a good time?”

He turned his head, pressed a kiss to her palm. “Yeah. Thank you.”

Not simply for inquiring about his evening, Lauren thought, picking up on the current between them. Something else was going on, another question being asked and answered, another trust being given. For some reason, for no reason at all, her eyes pricked with tears.

Taylor paused the movie. “Did you win the poker game?”

Luke grinned. “Jack won. But he said I should take all his money and buy you girls presents.”

Lauren looked at Jack, who shrugged.

“Cool.” Taylor’s smile shed sunshine on them both. “You want to watch the movie with us?”

“I wish I could.” Jack’s gaze flicked briefly to Lauren. “I’ve got to go on a call.”

Disappointment and concern lurched inside her. “Nothing serious, I hope.”

“Nope. Alarm call at Evans Tackle Store. Owner’s already on the scene. But Hank’s got his hands full with some teenagers partying in one of the rentals, so I have to take the report.”

Lauren got her legs under her. “I’ll see you out.”

Taylor switched those huge blue eyes on Luke. “Can you watch the movie with us, Daddy?”

Luke’s arm tightened around Kate’s waist. He smiled down at his daughter. “As you wish.”

*   *   *

L
AUREN WALKED WITH
Jack along the deck that ran the length of the house to the trellis-covered patio. The sky was like velvet, the stars scattered over it like a jeweler’s diamond display. The brutal sun slept. The close, sticky air of the day had lifted. A freshening breeze rose off the water, teasing the scents from the summer garden.

Jack turned to face her, his back to the house, a shadow against the deeper shadows of the porch. Tiny white flowers starred the vines behind his head.

Lauren took a deep breath of jasmine-scented air and thought,
Take me
.

“You’re missing the end of the movie,” he said.

She shrugged, trying to speak lightly. “I’m not really into revenge scenarios.”

He frowned at her.

“What?”

“Your pal in jail, the bank robber—”

“Ben.” He had a name, just like she did.

“Yeah. He ever talk about revenge? Threaten you in any way?”

“No.
No
.” She was genuinely horrified she’d given him that impression. “Nothing like that. Ben always says he knows I did my best. He
thanks
me. All the time.” His mother wanted her dead, but Ben was grateful.

“For getting him to give himself up.”

“Well, that,” Lauren said. “But mostly I think for the money.”

Jack went very still, a black granite garden sculpture. “What money?”

Crap
. “It doesn’t matter. Don’t you have to go? I thought you had to take a report.”

“It can wait.” Jack stuck his thumbs into his pockets, watching her. “Do you send that guy money, Lauren?”

“Not him. Well, only a little. If it weren’t for Ben . . . Okay, that’s a little weird. But if it weren’t for what happened, I wouldn’t have any money. Did you know in prison they don’t even supply you with a full-size bar of soap?”

Jack was silent.

Lauren swallowed. “Mostly, I send it to Ben’s mother,” she offered.

All around them the night pulsed with life, cicadas and tree frogs merrily getting it on in the dark.

Lauren drew a shaky breath. This evening was
so
not going as planned. “What are you thinking?” she whispered.

He shot her a dark look. “As a cop? Or as the guy who took you to bed?”

“Are you ever
not
a cop?”

“I wasn’t a cop last night,” he said, and she deflated, her frustration leaking away.

“I’m sorry.” She hung her head. “I just . . .”
Want you. I don’t want to fight.

Jack wrapped his arms around her, his legs bracketing hers, his body solid and warm and right against her. With a sigh, she laid her head on his chest. Gradually, her tension drained away from her muscles and the back of her neck.

“Let’s try this again.” His voice rumbled under her ear. “Hello, Lauren.”

She smiled against his shirt, everything in her softening. Relaxing. “Hello, Jack.”

He caught a strand of her hair between two fingers and pulled it carefully out of her face, stroking it back to blend with the rest of her hair. His hand lingered, cradling her skull against him. “Sorry I have to go.”

She swallowed an unexpected lump in her throat. “Me, too.”

“So, I’ll see you.”

“Okay,” she whispered.

“Tomorrow.”

She nodded, pushing down her disappointment. Obviously, he couldn’t see her in the dark. But he could feel her head moving against his chest. And she could feel him, his hard man’s body, the muscles of his abdomen. “That would be good.”

“Hell.” He exhaled against her hair. “Tomorrow’s Friday.”

She raised her head. “Is that a problem?”

“Weekend in a resort town, that’s all. It’s a full day. I probably can’t get away until late.”

If I ever take a chance on another guy
, Jane had said,
it won’t be somebody who always puts his job ahead of me.

That guy wasn’t Jack. That would never be Jack.

But Lauren wasn’t Jane, either. She wasn’t struggling to balance her needs with the demands of a six-year-old child. She wasn’t living with her father. She didn’t need Jack to save her or to take care of her or to put her first.

She was his rebound relationship, that’s all. Sure, he was a terrific guy. Yes, he’d come through for her last night. But she knew better than to put long-term expectations on a short-term relationship. They’d only known each other a week.

He was simply a very pleasant detour on her way to someplace else.

The thought was vaguely depressing.

“Lauren?”

She pulled herself together. “Late works for me,” she said. “I’ve got to work tomorrow anyway.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Long bakery hours.”

“Actually”—she lifted her chin—“I’m writing.”

He smiled that little half smile that caused a warm, liquid rush in her knees. “Good for you.”

She swallowed. “I don’t know if it’s good or not,” she confessed. “But at least I’m not standing around waiting for inspiration to strike.”

He tilted his head to one side, considering her.

All her doubts flamed into her face in one giant blush. She moistened her lips. “What?”

He took her by the arms, his hands hard and just the right amount of rough, hauled her up onto her toes, and took her mouth with his.

Her brain melted. Her heart pounded, shaking her from the inside. He was hot and hard and solid against her, and her body, already primed, fused against him like wax. Her nails dug into him as he gave and took and took some more.

And then he let her go.

His chest moved up and down. Her breathing was loud in the stillness.

“What was that?” she asked when she could speak.

His mouth quirked. “Inspiration?”

She laughed shakily. His teasing felt warm and intimate as a kiss. She had the impression he didn’t joke very often. “Am I supposed to thank you now?”

“Thank me tomorrow.”

Anticipation swelled, a big, shiny soap bubble in her chest. “All right, I will.”

She was still smiling as she went into the house.

*   *   *

T
HE NEXT DAY,
Jack worked from an hour before sunrise until damn near sunset. Nothing like the job to put things in perspective.

Four commercial alarms in the past five days had spooked the normally stolid islanders. His biggest challenge, as the new police chief, was to convince the residents to reach for the phone instead of a shotgun at the threat of an intruder. He spent several hours checking locks, doing drive-bys, and reassuring older residents like Dora Abrams that, yes, they were safe in their homes.

Small-town police work was mostly a matter of learning patterns and routines, putting together a picture of the community that would tip you off when a piece was out of place or missing. So today he took his coffee breaks with the guys at Evans Tackle Store, chatting with the watermen in the predawn as they prepared to go out with their boats.

“How’s that new dispatcher working out for you?” old Walt Rogers on the town board wanted to know.

“Good, thanks.”

“Marta? She sure is a looker,” Evans said.

One of the other fishermen standing around the coffeepot chuckled knowingly. “I hear old Carl was sorry to see her go.”

At ten o’clock, the retirees moved in to talk about the weather and their neighbors, who had money or needed some, whose kids were in trouble, who had a grudge or a wandering eye. Jack sipped his coffee, listened, volunteered the occasional comment or reassurance.

He wasn’t avoiding Lauren, he told himself as he said his good-byes and headed back to his marked SUV.

But maybe the interruption last night had been a good thing.

He drove back to the station house. The coffee in his to-go cup left a bitter taste in his mouth.

In the heat of the moment—
Lauren, hot and slippery under him, wet and tight, gasping his name
—a guy could be forgiven for losing his head. Especially when he hadn’t gotten laid in . . . He calculated the months.
Way too long
.

Being married to another cop, he’d tried to preserve some semblance of a regular personal life, to compartmentalize work and home, to separate sex and the job. And on the island, he was never off the job.

Jack knew cops who turned every call into a fucking opportunity. Badge bunnies, hot for anybody packing, druggies desperate to escape a charge, bored stay-at-homes who answered the door in nighties or nothing at all . . . There were guys who sampled whatever was on offer and bragged about it after.

Not Jack. He was traditional, like his pop.
Old-fashioned
, Renee had called him, first affectionately and finally . . . Well, there hadn’t been much affection there at the end.

So this thing with Lauren, this, what had she called it, rebound relationship, this singeing hot, rock-his-fucking-world sex with a woman he’d met a week ago, wasn’t him.

But, Jesus, when he was with her, when he was in her, when she looked up at him with those dark, perceptive eyes and yielded and trembled and came, again and again, it sure felt like him.

He shook his head. Shook himself. So, yeah. Time to take a step back. Slow things down.

The rest of his day was taken up with the usual end-of-week hassles, fender benders, lost dogs, lost keys, an altercation at the water park, a complaint about parked cars blocking a beach access.

Marta, the new dispatcher, logged the complaints, soothed the callers, handled permits for parties and fires on the beach. He was glad he’d hired her, despite the fact that she and Hank had taken to bickering in the office like an old married couple.

By the time Jack hunt-and-pecked his way through the last report, set calls to go to his cell phone, and got back to his boat, the sky over the water was turning pink.

He needed a long hot shower and a tall cold beer to rinse away the stink of the day. Then maybe he’d have the distance he needed to deal with Lauren.
Job here, sex there, everything in place, everything under control
.

Or almost under control.

He opened the cabin door. The gray tabby cat shot from the galley counter, claws scrambling on the laminate, and dived under the table.